


The Ned x Cat Drabbles

by crossingwinter



Series: Irresponsible Storytelling [9]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:27:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 17,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2261070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Tumblr Drabbles about Ned and Catelyn Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ned Returns from the Greyjoy Rebellion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Veridissima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veridissima/gifts), [StormDancer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDancer/gifts), [SomeEnchantedEve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeEnchantedEve/gifts), [crossfirehurricane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossfirehurricane/gifts).



> Written for [inkasrain](inkasrain.tumblr.com).

Catelyn awakens to the sound of her door opening. Robb’s fever—it can’t have gotten worse. Maester Luwin said that he would sleep it off and all would be well come morning—that there was no need to fret. But it is not Maester Luwin standing in the doorway—Maester Luwin is not so tall, nor are his shoulders so broad.

"Ned," she breathes in surprise.

He crosses the room and presses a kiss to her forehead before going and pushing open the window. ”Gods, Cat. It is hot in here.”

She laughs in relief and sits up. ”I thought you weren’t getting back for another two days. Or couldn’t you wait to see me?” she teases, throwing blankets aside to go and stand by him, despite the chilly breeze now flowing through the window.

There is a cut on his cheek—she can see it in the moonlight now, and she reaches up to touch it. ”What happened here?” 

"Rodrik Greyjoy," he said darkly. "It’s only now beginning to heal."

"It would have healed faster if you didn’t pick at it."

"I didn’t pick at it!" he yelped, sounding so very like Robb when she found him picking his scabs. Like father, like son, she supposed.

"We both know that’s not—"

"I couldn’t wait to see you," Ned said loudly, clearly trying to get her off the subject, "And I didn’t want to miss our anniversary. That’s why I am here early."

"Our anniv—" she stopped. Was it their anniversary? She’d never actually thought about it. He’d left so quickly after they’d been wed that the day of it had hardly been burned into her being the way she’d always expected as a young girl. But here he was, seven years to the day since they had been married. "Oh, Ned," she breathed.

His mouth was on hers, his hands on her waist and oh, he was home, he was home. She let him steer her to her bed, her fingers twining in his hair as he pressed down into her, the heat of his breath filling her with a fire that swept the cold of the breeze completely out of her mind. His beard was soft against the skin of her face, and when his lips settled down to find the spot on her neck that always made her groan, she felt as though she were in a dream. Ned’s lips were magic on her skin, and though his weight was heavy against her chest, she much preferred it to the memories that had fueled her own touches for so many months. 

She fumbled for his laces, helping him shed his jerkin and push his breeches down to his ankles. His cock sprung free and he only had to shove the skirts of her night dress up and he was in her, in her, in her once again, and oh, he was home. They shuddered together as he thrust again and again, and she gasped his name, finding his throat with her lips and wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing him deeper and deeper. 

"Oh, Cat," he groaned as he spent himself within her and collapsed on top of her. She held him there, hands running through his dark hair, feeling the sweat of his forehead. "Oh, Cat, how I’ve missed you."

He kissed her, lazily, his tongue dancing through her lips. ”I’ve missed you, too,” she murmured into his mouth. He began to pull out of her, “Wait—stay. I like you there.” But he didn’t. He pulled completely free and twisted to the side of her, his lips never leaving hers. A moment later, she felt his fingers on her, circling over the nub that he’d spent so many hours playing with before he’d left for war. ”Oh,” she sighed into his lips as his fingers grew more insistent, circling faster and faster and faster until, ”Ned,” she gasped, her back arching, heart pounding so hard that she felt it’s pulse under every inch of skin.

When her heart slowed, Cat twisted against him, curling under his chin, Ned’s arms wrapping around her. They lay there together, breathing each other in until they fell asleep.


	2. Love Confessions Under the Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [proustianrecall](proustianrecall.tumblr.com).

It’s not the rain that’s the problem: it’s the wind, Catelyn thinks as she throws her umbrella into a trash can on 86th Street.  It didn’t even last a block and she grimaces as she tugs her purse under her sweater so that hopefully it won’t be quite as wet as the rest of her by the time she reaches home.  And ugh, she doesn’t even want to think about her shoes.  They were new, too, bright blue with red buckles and heels that were a little too high to walk far in, but perfect for the office.

It’s not fair—just not fair.  She was supposed to have been out of the office half-an-hour before, when the clouds had been a sinister smoky grey as opposed to unleashing their wrath upon the good people of Manhattan.  She was  _supposed_  to be curled up in her room, warm, and dry, and watching episodes of  _30Rock_  on her laptop and waiting for Lysa to email her letting her know when she’d be down from Boston.  She was not supposed to be huddled under the overhang of the movie theater between 2nd and 3rd and hoping that the rain would let up and that her shoes weren’t completely ruined.

"Cat?"

She turned around.  He was standing there under a huge black umbrella, his hair ruffled and damp from the wind but otherwise completely dry.  Well, completely would be an overstatement.  The hems of his pants were sopping, and she didn’t doubt his shoes were too.  She wondered vaguely if he’d accidentally waded through one of the lakes that were forming at street corners.

"Ned?  What are you doing here?"

"Heading home?" he sounded confused.

"Do you live near here?" she demanded, then wished she’d softened her tone.  It wasn’t Ned’s fault that Brandon had broken up with her, after all.  Ned was quiet, kind, gentle, thoughtful, respectful—all the good things that Brandon…

"I was heading to the four-five to take me downtown.  What about you?"

"I live over on 83rd and York," she muttered.  "Taking refuge from the rain."

"Don’t you have an umbrella?"

She let out a bitter laugh.  ”It croaked on the corner.  And I don’t have cash to buy one from the vendors.”

"They’re also selling them way over price," Ned added.  "What about the crosstown bus…" he paused, seeing the way Cat’s face twisted in a smile that on no accounts conveyed amusement.  "I guess not?"

"The M86 is a travesty.  I can walk faster than it.  No, I’ll just wait here for a little while.  Worse comes to worse, I’ll go in and see," she glanced at the movie times above the ticket seller, " _Florian 2: This Time It’s Personal_.”

"Do you want me to walk you back?  It’s no trouble and I’ve got room," he lifted his umbrella as if to remind her that it  was there.

"What?  Oh.  No.  No, I couldn’t make you turn back."

"It’s really no trouble. The trains’ll be packed now anyway.  Maybe the rain will taper off some, and people will return to the surface."

Cat hesitated.  It was so tempting—so very tempting.  But, god, then she’d have to make conversation with Brandon’s little brother for the next ten minutes and that was not a prospect that pleased her.

As if the heavens had heard her, or perhaps were playing some cruel joke on her, the rain intensified.  She didn’t have to look—she could hear it.  

"If you really don’t mind," she said.  In response, Ned offered her his arm.  She took it and they began to walk.

Oh, this was so awkward.  So very awkward. Ned wasn’t saying anything as they progressed towards 2nd.  It wasn’t exactly as though she and Ned had been close, or even conversational before.  Hell, she spoken more to Benjen, who was fifteen and rowdy, than she did to Ned who was closer to her own age than Brandon was.  Brandon had called him reserved.  But then again, anyone when compared with Brandon was reserved.

"Is that your shoes?" he asked. "That squelching?"

God, she could die.  ”Yes.”

"I’m sorry."

"Thanks. They were new too.  Oh god, this storm is really just the last lid in the coffin."  He looked at her curiously.  "I’ve spent the past week doing twelve hour days at work for a project that my supervisor is probably going to table for lack of funding, and Lysa’s having trouble up in Boston and I’m trying to convince her to come down, but it’s hard to convince her to do anything.  And, of course, the water isn’t running in my apartment, though I suppose if I get home soon I can just take my shampoo outside and give my hair a good scrubbing."  She was babbling.  She knew she was babbling.  And Ned wasn’t saying a word—not one.  Brandon would have headed her off, tried to make her laugh, or tried to outdo her with his shitty week, but not Ned.  Ned just kept the umbrella tilted slightly forward to keep the wind tunnel of 2nd Avenue out of their faces.  

"You’ll be fine," he said at last.  

"Thanks," she mumbled.

"No, really.  You’ll be fine.  It’s overwhelming now.  I know it is.  But you’ll overcome it.  That’s what you do, and you’re very good at it."

"That’s…that’s very kind of you."

Ned snorted.  Ned snorted?  Did Ned snort?  Ned didn’t seem like the kind of person capable of snorting.

"It’s the truth, you know.  That’s how you’ve always been.  I noticed it when you were…"  He paused, lips now pursed as though he wished he had never brought it up at all.

"Dating Brandon," Cat finished.  

"Yes," he replied tersely.  

They stood on the corner of 83rd and 2nd, waiting for the light to change and oh, she  _really_  didn’t know what to say now. But honestly, what was she supposed to have done?  Ned was the one who had brought it up.  And honestly, why was he suddenly uncomfortable?  She was the one who had broken up with Brandon.  Ned hadn’t been even a little bit involved.  Or was he mad at her for breaking up with Brandon?  Well, if that was the case…

"It wasn’t going to work out," she said, more defensively than she intended.  "We weren’t right for each other."

Ned chuckled darkly.  ”I think if Brandon ever finds the kind of woman who’s right for him, he should marry her on the spot.”  Cat blinked at him.  The light changed, and Ned began crossing.  He was walking more quickly now and she had to take two paces to match any one of his—something not made easier by her shoes and the squelching.  ”He doesn’t treat people well,” Ned finished stonily.

Cat didn’t know what to say—in large part because she agreed.  But you couldn’t just go railing against your ex to his younger brother.  That was undignified.  Also wrong.

In her silence, Ned continued.  ”He treated you badly.  He treats them all badly, but he treated you very badly.  And I’m sorry.”

"It’s not your fault."

"No," he agreed, "It’s not.  But I’m sorry nonetheless.  Because you’re too good for him and too good for—" He stopped again.

"What?  I like hearing what I’m too good for," she prodded gently.  

A very bizarre look crossed his face.  Something between wry amusement, intense discomfort, and overwhelming confusion.

"Come on.  You can say it."

"For me," he said.  Then he turned away quickly and began walking again, even faster than before.  

"Ned." He didn’t look at her. "Ned, I can’t walk this fast."  He slowed and she caught up with him.  "I’m not, you know.  Too good for you, I mean.  You’re a good person."

Ned snorted again.  ”You definitely are.  Too good for the type of person that would say things like that to his brother’s ex.”

They crossed 1st Avenue, and Cat had to hop over a puddle that had collected on the corner.  ”You’re allowed to think what you want, Ned.  And say it, too.  I’m not going to begrudge you that.  Especially not when I agree with you.”

"Even if it’s being disloyal to my brother?"

"If he’s upset you, he—"

"It’s not disloyalty, Cat.  It’s—" the wind knocked the umbrella out of his hand, sending it flying down the sidewalk and Ned cursed and took off after it.  Cat hurried after him, stopping only when she reached the stoop of her building.  When Ned came, umbrella in hand, he looked almost defeated.  

"It’s what?" Cat asked.

"It’s that I love you.  And I have for a while now.  And that’s where the problem is.  Because you dated Brandon, and—"

"Do you want to come upstairs?"  she asked.  "Dry off some?"

Ned blinked at her.   “Are—are you sure?”

She pressed a kiss to his cheek and took his hand in hers, digging her keys out of her purse.


	3. "You want me to do what?"

”You want me to do what?”

She had never thought those words would come out of his lips—never.  Her husband, her quiet husband, whose austerity she had taken for granted these past few months…she would never have dreamed.

Ned blushed and looked away.  ”Never mind.  It was a silly thought.  A horrible one.  One to be—”

She kissed him, her hand slipping back down to his cock, still swollen and waiting for her.

"Do you think you have upset me?" she asked him gently.

"It is a lewd request, Cat.  Forget I said it.  Forget it ever crossed my mind."

She pumped her hand up and down his cock twice, feeling the weight of it bobbing in her hand before she kissed her way down his chest, lower and lower and—

"Cat, you don’t have to, I didn’t mean—"

But it was too late for all that.  

She’d never taken a cock in her mouth before.  She had once heard Petyr make a comment about it, though how he would have known about it she could only have guessed.  Ned’s cock was thick, and soft against her lips and he groaned as she took him in and sucked him.  She tasted a salty moisture, curious, traced the tip of his cock with her tongue.

"Cat," he sighed, and shifted his hips slightly such that his cock hit the back of her throat.  She pulled away for a moment, then took him into her mouth again, rocking back and forth such that he went in and out and in and out and—

"I’m—" he began, but he was already spurting into her mouth, hot, salty seed filling her mouth as he moaned and breathed deeply.  She waited for him to be done, then swallowed, smiling as she drew his cock from her lips.

"You know, if there’s something you would have of me, you should ask.  You never know what you’ll get," she teased, sliding up his body and resting her head against his shoulder.

"I don’t deserve you," he said.

"Perhaps not.  But I can think of some ways you can make it up to me."


	4. Accidentally Swapped Suitcases

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [simplifiedwords](simplifiedwords.tumblr.com).

Shoes.  Shoes  _everywhere._   Red shoes, blue shoes, flats, heels, boots.  Ned actually wasn’t aware that a person could own so many shoes, much less fit them into a suitcase of this size.  He’d had trouble fitting his laptop, a pair of pajamas, and an extra sweater in his bag—how had this woman fit…six pairs of shoes into her bag  _and_  had room for toiletries, and a pile of outfits and.  

Ned closed the bag, and scrambled to find the luggage tag on the handle.  

_Catelyn Tully_

_c.tully.10@alumni.riverrun.edu_

Ned pulled out his phone and stared at it for a moment.  He wished he hadn’t left the infernal instruction manual in his bag. Benjen had laughed himself silly that Ned had even bothered looking at the instruction manual, but he really didn’t know what he was doing.  He pressed a few buttons and a blank email appeared. 

 _Dear Catelyn,_  he wrote,  _I seem to have your bag.  I’m staying at the Royal Regent’s on_

His phone began buzzing in his hands and he almost dropped it in surprise.  He hit the green call button.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Hi, is this…Eddard?" 

"Catelyn?"

"Oh good.  I’m not crazy."  She laughed nervously. It was a low laugh, and relieved. Lyanna always said you could tell a lot about a person from her laugh.

"I have your bag," he said quickly.

"And I have yours."

"I was about to send you an email."

"Yeah.  Where are you staying?" she asked.

"The Royal Regent’s.  On Westgate Lane."

"I’m across the street,"  She sounded excited now.  "At the Mad Dog’s Bark."

Ned went to the window and pushed the curtain aside.  Westgate Lane was narrow, and sure enough, as he looked across the way, he saw the hotel.  

"Are you on the third floor?" she asked.

"Yes?" he looked up and down and saw her on the fourth floor, an auburn braid hanging over her shoulder as she looked out of her bedroom window.  She waved at him.  He waved back his arm feeling heavy.

"An exchange of prisoners, then?" she suggested, smiling down at him.  

"See you in a moment.  I mean, in person, not through windows."

She laughed again, and he felt warmth flood him.  He put his phone away, grabbed her bag and his room key and hurried to the elevator.  

She was waiting for him when he got downstairs, holding his bag in front of her with both hands so that it hung just above her ankles.  She was wearing yet another pair of heels—sleek silver ones that matched her light grey sweater.

"Thanks," he said.

"Quite easy," she smiled, "I was afraid that you’d gone out to Rosby or something and that it would be horrible getting it back."

"I hadn’t even gotten that far," he confessed.  "I was still trying to figure out how to send emails from my phone.  It’s new."

"Is it that hard?" she asked, cocking her head.

"I don’t know.  I’ve never had a smart phone before.  I bought this one yesterday and it’s been giving me grief ever since."

She nodded knowingly.  ”It’s always an adjustment.”

"That’s what they say.  It certainly doesn’t make anything any easier."

She hadn’t stopped smiling, and he felt his own lips tug up and, Gods, how blue her eyes were.

"Do you want to get dinner?" she asked.  "I mean, if you don’t have plans."

"Yes," he said slowly.  "Yes, I would quite like that.  Let me just put my bag upstairs and—"

"Here you go," she handed it to him, and he passed hers to her.  Gods, she had how many shoes in her bag and it was still lighter than his.  How did she manage that!  "Meet you back here in…forty five minutes?"

"Sounds perfect."


	5. "Stop trying to cheer me up, Cat."

"Stop trying to cheer me up, Cat."

She did her best not to roll her eyes at him.  She truly did.  ”I’m fine, Ned.  I’m tired, but well.  And Brandon—”

"I nearly killed you," he snapped, but when he took her hand, it was gentle.  "You nearly died."

She smiled, and saw a flicker of frustration cross his face again, but he didn’t say anything this time.

"I did," she said at last.  "And it was painful, and I was scared, and if I’d been brave enough, I would have cursed all the Gods, Old and New, if they let me I die the same way my mother did.  But I am well.  And it doesn’t do to dwell on it.  I am well, and, more importantly, Brandon is well."  She looked across the bedchamber, seeing a peep of pink skin from the layers of swaddling holding him in place.  He was a quiet boy, much quieter than Robb had been, though after Arya, she was convinced any babe would be quiet.  

"But Cat," he began, and she saw that stubborn streak that she knew all too well.  He’d given it to each of their children, by all the Gods.

"Ned," she cut him off, "I’m the one who nearly died.  You don’t get to tell me what to do.  If I wish to comfort you, let me.  Gods only know that it’s the only way I know how to comfort myself."

Her words hung in the air, and Ned looked shocked, his mouth slightly open, his grey eyes wide in his long face.

"Put it behind you, that I might as well," she murmured, squeezing his hand. 

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.  ”I’m glad I didn’t lose you,” he said.

"You’d be lost without me," she teased, and he let out a chuckle.

"I daresay I would be."  He sighed, and she saw his shoulders begin to relax.


	6. Vacation

There’s nothing at all like the sand getting blown across your skin while you lie there tanning.  At least, she hopes she’s tanning.  If Ned didn’t get a part of her back with her million and five SPF sun block she’d kill him.  But it was warm, and there was a breeze and how lazy she felt lying there without having to worry about anything, or anyone.

"Do you think Rickon has blown up the house yet?" Ned asks.

"I don’t care," Cat says firmly.  He’d promised.  He had promised.  Because if he starts, then she’ll start and it’ll be wondering if Robb and Myrcella have snuck off into the den when the rest of them are sleeping, or if they should have made Sansa promise not to sneak  _that boy_  into the house.

"Suit yourself," Ned says.  He sounds like he’s not sure he believes that she means it.  To his credit, Cat isn’t sure she means it, but good God, she’ll do her damnedest because they are in the Bahamas for another two days and this was the kid’s Christmas present to them and lord only knew that they deserved it.

She deserved a sun tan, and the sound of the sea, and Ned’s hand drifting lazily across her back periodically slipping beneath seams of her one piece just to remind her that they’d had more sex this week than they’d had in the past month and that he was happy about that.

The thought made her smile—no interruptions, no children getting into arguments, no dogs barking at the worst time, no nothing, just the sea and the sun and each other…

"Want to go inside?" he asks her.  She hears the eagerness in his voice, but she’s sun-drunk and doesn’t want to move.

"Soon.  In a little while," she promises, and closes her eyes.


	7. "You're worse than Rickon."

"You’re worse than Rickon," she sighed as Ned ran his fingers through her hair. "Though at least you don’t chew on it, I suppose."

"Does Rickon chew on your hair?" Ned asked, smiling.

"Yes, he—" Ned placed a lock in his mouth and smiled up at her, looking far more pleased with himself than the time that Arya had snuck a frog in to dinner. "does."

"I like how it tastes," he said, running his hand along her side and not removing the lock of hair from his mouth.

"I’m glad," she muttered, and pulled it loose again. "Honestly—I should just cut it all off. Then at least I wouldn’t have to worry about what Rickon and—I suppose—you will do to it."

"Don’t," Ned said gently. He caressed her face and she closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his hands send shivers down her spine. She prayed that summer would never end, prayed that all their days would be as blissful as this day had been. "Don’t do that. I love your hair."


	8. Sexting

Ned: I should be there with you.

Cat: It’s really fine. Stop blaming yourself. Route 1 is a shitshow.

Ned: All the same, I should be there with you.

Cat: I’ve done this before, I’ll be fine. 

Ned: Doesn’t matter.

Cat: Stop being silly.

Ned: I can’t. It’s against my programming. I’m just sitting here stuck behind a line of cars that’s at least a mile long and all I can think about is how you’re there without me.

Cat: Naked.

Ned: Oh?

Cat: Yep. Well, in a hospital gown. But naked, by and large. They had to take off my bra for the MRI.

Ned: Are you alone?

Cat: What sort of a question is that?

Ned: An important one.

Cat: Somewhat. They’re…in and out. Why?

Ned: Oh. Well, I was just imagining what would have happened if I were there with you.

Cat: Go on.

Ned: I think that hospital gown wouldn’t be there for a start.

Cat: It is rather in the way.

Ned: And I imagine my hands would probably be…well…I can’t decide—tits or ass?

Cat: I’d go with ass. My breasts are still quite sore.

Ned: Massaging—stroking, caressing, etc.

Cat: Etc?

Ned: You get the drift and I’m driving.

Cat: Don’t drive and text, Ned! Do you want me to be a widow?

Ned: I’m going less than 5. Nothing drastic is going to happen, and if it did, I’d be fine, so you’d be fine.

Cat: So instead you’re being lazy with the sexting?

Ned: massaging, stroking, caressing, feeling the curve of your ass in my hands, fingers trailing down your skin until I reach your cunt from the back.

Cat: I have to go the doctor’s here.

Ned: And I slip two fingers in.

Cat: NED THE DOCTOR IS HERE STOP NOW.

Ned: And you’re already wet.

Ned: And so I slide them in and out and in and out.

Ned: Slowly picking up the pace.

Ned: Until you’re just about in pieces.


	9. "Ned woke to the chirping of birds..."

Ned woke to the chirping of birds, the rustle of leaves in the trees across the river, and the gentle sound of someone else’s breath.  He kept his eyes closed for a moment, letting the breeze from the open window brush across his chest.  He had kicked away the blankets in the night, he realized, and they were twisted around his legs.  When he opened his eyes, he knew he would be fully exposed from the knee up.  It was that, more than anything else that made him open his eyes.  When she woke, he would not have her see him that way—it was…it was indecent.  And, to be sure, she was his wife, but…

She was already awake, sitting with her knees hugged to her chest, her eyes wide and blue and steady as the river outside.  She had been watching him sleep—he was sure, and he felt a flush rise.  He supposed there was no protecting her from the indecency of it all now.

”My Lady,” he said, shifting slightly so that his manhood was not so—not so  _there_.  

"Ned," she replied quietly.  His breath caught in his throat.  Of course—they were wed now.  And he’d told her to call him Ned last night when they’d been thrown into bed together, stripped of all of their clothing, with the Greatjon laughing about how fine Lady Catelyn’s—Cat’s teats were, and how he was a fool if he didn’t suckle her like a baby.

How blue her eyes were—how very blue, and gentle, and nervous.  He wondered briefly what she had to be nervous about before wishing he hadn’t thought of it.  What was it that Robert had said?  The morning after the wedding was almost more important than the night of the thing?  ”Because then,” Robert had said, clapping his hand on Ned’s shoulder and ignoring the expression of pure affront on Hoster Tully’s face, “you won’t be drunk anymore, and you don’t have to worry about what anyone’ll say.  You’ll have her all to yourself for the whole morning.”

Did she fear him?  Did she fear that he would throw himself at her immediately upon waking, that he’d kicked off his blankets in the night that there might be little doubt as to his—

"Did you sleep well?" she asked him, completely interrupting his thoughts.

"I did," he said slowly.  "And you?"

"Well enough," she said, blushing slightly.  She looked way, towards the window and the river, her face glowing slightly in the early morning light.

"Oh.  That’s…good."  Why was he always such a foolish stumbletongue?  Why did he never have the words to say what should be said.  If it were Brandon in Catelyn’s bed, he would have already said many gentle words of love, many kind things—how beautiful you are, how happy I am to be here with you, how much I adore you…but Ned…he was more at a loss of what to say than he had been when Brandon had somehow managed to get Lady Ashara to dance with him.

More birds chirped, and the wind rose.  Some of it made the curtains in the window billow, and Catelyn’s hair ruffled slightly.

He meant to say, “It looks as though it shall be a beautiful day.  Perhaps we shall take a walk after luncheon?” but all that came out of his mouth was “Beautiful,” because all the other words caught in his throat.

She was beautiful.  Very beautiful.  Perhaps she did not strike awe into the hearts of men as Cersei Lannister did, and she was no Ashara Dayne, but she was beautiful, when she turned to look at him, her auburn hair glowing like the dawn itself around her head and when she blushed at his words, he knew that he had said the right thing.  Perhaps not as easy as Brandon’s compliments, or as tactful, but…honest.  And he could tell from the smile playing at her lips that she appreciated honesty, Catelyn did.  His Catelyn.  His Cat.

She was his now.  His—not in the bawdy sense that Robert would have had him believe—in some other way, some way that was more beautiful for it wasn’t just that she was his—he was hers as well.

He sat up slowly, and reached out, cupping her face in his hands—how soft her skin was!  How smooth!—and leaning in to kiss her.

Her lips parted against his, just as they had the night before, and her hands came up to rest on his shoulders, gripping them tightly, and the taste of her breath was as fine as the wine that her father had feasted them on the night before.  His hands drifted over her body, gently caressing the soft flesh of her breast, making her gasp quietly into his mouth when he thumbed circles into her pebbling nipples.  And this time, when he entered her, it was not so much his entering her as her taking him in, coming to sit astride him and guiding his cock inside her, then rising and falling on his lap as he slowly lost all sense in the feel of her, in the taste of her lips, in the sound of her breath quickening and losing itself in the rustle of the leaves outside.

 


	10. Younger siblings as playmates

"No!" wailed Benjen. "No no no!"

"But it’s mine!" screeched Edmure. "You can’t have it. It’s mine. Cat gave it to me. CAAAATTTTT!!!!" 

Catelyn looked up from the playmobile, rolling her eyes. ”Edmure, let him play with it—you can have it back later.”

"But I want it!" whined Edmure.

"You have to learn to share," Cat snapped, "See? Look! I’m sharing. I’m sharing with Ned now. This is my playmobile set, but he hasn’t got anything else to do, so he gets to play with the wizard and the cauldron while I build the castle.”

"But it’s mine." Edmure was pouting. Cat rolled her eyes. She’d learned with Lysa that you never gave into pouting. Never. How would they learn if you did?

"Benjen, be nice," Ned muttered under his breath. Benjen probably couldn’t hear him, but it was a gesture, Cat supposed.

"Pass me the instructions?" Cat asked him, and he handed her the piece of paper. She heard Benjen and Edmure continuing their squabble in the corner, but she didn’t care. She was going to finish building this castle and then she and Ned were going to go for a walk outside, away from all the babies. Lysa and Lyanna were outside on the swingset. Lysa was frowning that Lyanna was swinging higher than she was.

"We seem to be the only ones that get along," she said to Ned.

Ned smiled at her, but didn’t say a word. She liked his smile, she realized. It made him seem much older than eight—maybe ten? His older brother was ten, but he seemed like he was twelve at least. But there was something steadying about Ned seeming older. She smiled back and dug around in the box for a window.


	11. New Neighbors AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [maria-jonsson](maria-jonsson.tumblr.com).

He wasn’t really sure who was ringing the doorbell. He didn’t know anyone in town yet, and, honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure he could even open his front door since there was so much shit in the hallway. 

The doorbell rang again and he lurched to his feet, hollering, “Coming!”

Shins were very useful for a number of reasons, but Ned cursed his as they connected with several boxes on his way downstairs. Why did they have to be so in the way all the time? Why did they always seem to send such a precise shooting pain up his leg and—

She was standing on the porch with a tupperware full of cookies, her red hair was blowing slightly in the wind and there was a mildly bemused expression on her face as Ned almost fell out his front door.

"Hello," she smiled.

"Hi—sorry. Just…a bit of a mess in there," Ned said. She was very pretty.

"I’m Cat. I live across the street and thought that I would welcome you to the neighborhood." She extended the tupperware towards him, and he saw ginger snaps. He loved ginger snaps.

"Ned," he said, taking the tupperware. "I’d invite you in, but it’s a bit of a war zone in there…" he wished he hadn’t blushed. 

She chuckled. ”Do you need some allied forces? I’m not doing anything and if you don’t mind a complete stranger helping you unpack—”

"Yes please," he said quickly, without even really thinking about it. "Yes please and thank you."

She grinned at him, and he saw a dimple on her cheek and good god—this was so very unexpected and so very welcome.


	12. The difference between Catelyn and Portuguese.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [thestagthatlovedthewolf](thestagthatlovedthewolf.tumblr.com).

There is a very important difference between Portuguese and Catelyn.

There are other differences that are less important, but Ned chooses not to think about those because they don’t really matter, and he has to spend too much time thinking about them because his damn final is tomorrow and all he wants to do is sleep—and focus on the important difference.

He can’t wrap his tongue around Portuguese. He can’t—he’s tried for four semesters now, and he thinks his TA looks at him with horror every time she calls on him because she knows that the language that will be coming out of his mouth won’t be English, but it also won’t be Portuguese. He wished he’d dropped the damn class last semester once he’d finished the language requirement, but there was something to be said for trying to master a language and not just aim for college credit. He wished he’d ignored that.

He can wrap his tongue around Catelyn though—and it’s the thought that gets him through his conjugation and vocabulary reviews. That she is going to be in his room, studying history (Catelyn needs to study in other people’s empty rooms. She says it’s more focused than her room, and less oppressive than the library), and waiting for him to come back to her. She probably won’t be wearing pants either (she takes them off when studying—he still doesn’t understand why, though he assumes that the reason that the library is so “oppressive” might have something to do with it) and it will be so very easy just to throw his bag on the ground, slip off her underwear and wrap his tongue around her, tasting her, teasing her, hearing her gasps and moans as he licks and licks and licks…


	13. Speed Dating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [soyoufixmyhoover](soyoufixmyhoover.tumblr.com).

Robert says that chemistry was important in any relationship. And Ned had to agree.   It is the only real explanation for why things always tended to fall apart, why things always managed to be…

Nothing really works  Nothing at all.  He’d dated Barbrey Dustin for heartbeat, but she’d been so hung up on Brandon that he hadn’t really bothered for too long.  And she wasn’t even the first person he’d met who had dated Brandon first.

So, when Robert signs him up for speed dating, promising that, at the very least, if it’s awkward, he can move on after a moment, Ned gulps and nods and doesn’t say a word, but shows up in the common room of Dragonstone at nine pm, dressed in a nice shirt (nice enough—he hopes, but not too fancy because he doesn’t want to scare girls away) and feeling distinctly nervous.  What does one even do at speed dating?  Is it even possible to find someone worth  _actually_  dating at speed dating.

The answer is yes.  Cat’s the first girl he sits down with, a with bright blue eyes and auburn hair and the sort of laugh that makes his heart beat faster.  She smiles and cocks her head and asks him what he studies (“Chemistry,” he blurts out before he remembers that it’s physics) and whether or not he’s planning on seeing the orchestra concert on Saturday.  And before he can even ask her a question—what her favorite flavor of ice cream is, or what she would would do with a million dollars—the bell is tinkling and he’s being replaced by Arthur Dayne.

At the end of the hour, when he’s spoken with eight girls and all of them seem delightful, but not as delightful as Cat, he doesn’t hesitate in writing her name with a big star next to it, in case that will make some sort of a difference.  And when he gets her phone number, he’s ecstatic, until he glances over at her and she’s got a rather shocked look on her face and he knows—just knows—that she’s been with Brandon.

There’s nothing in the world quite like being disappointed by the same thing for the eighteenth or nineteenth time, and Ned feels suddenly hot, suddenly nervous.  He wants to crumple Cat’s phone number into a tiny ball and hurl it out the window, but he can’t do that, because what if he regrets it?  So instead, he just tucks it into his pocket and makes towards the door.

Half an hour later, when he’s curled in his bed watching reruns of  _30Rock_  and feeling positively mopey, his phone dings.

_It’s Cat.  Want to see the orchestra concert on Saturday?_

He can’t stop himself from smiling, even though he knows that this won’t last, because it never lasts.

_Ned Stark: I’d love to._

_Cat Tully: Full disclosure—I’ve dated your brother…I don’t think it will matter._

They never did…

_Ned Stark: That’s fine._

The best he could do was hope.


	14. Catelyn as a potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for an Anon and [trebuchettully](http://trebuchettully.tumblr.com).

She’s wearing far too much flannel to be wholly useful on a summer day like today, and her hands are covered in clay.  She smiles up at him from the pottery wheel, brushing a strand of red hair out of her face.  Or rather, she tries—the wet grey clay sticks it to the corner of her cheek next to her ear.  But she doesn’t seem to mind that.  If anything, it looks as though that might have been her goal the whole time.

"Hi," she smiles, "What can I do for you?"

"My sister is getting married, and I just thought I’d come in and look at…" Ned wasn’t entirely sure what he would look at.  There were odd sculptures everywhere, mostly of fish, or frogs, or what looked ominously like daggers.  He had been hoping for something like a set of dinner plates, or a vase, or who knew what.  Wasn’t that was supposed to be what you found in tiny pottery stores like this?  Quaint and one-of-a-kind pieces of household items?

She chuckles and lifts her foot off the pedal of the pottery wheel, which promptly stops spinning.  The lump of clay that had been sitting in the center of it has thin round lines going around it, marks from her hands he supposes.  ”What are you looking for?  Plates?  Bowls?  Mugs?  That sort of thing?”

"Yes," he says, trying to keep the relief out of his voice.

"Hang on just a sec."  She goes to a corner and dips her clay-covered hands into a bowl of brown water, then waves him towards her.  "I’ve got most of that sort of stuff back here," and she leads him into a second room he hadn’t noticed.

It’s full of every kind of platter, bowl, tray, mug, plate, vase he could have imagined, all painted with a lovely fishscale pattern and glazed  smoothly.  Some were orange and white, others were blue and grey, but his favorite by far were red and blue.  

"You like fish?" he asked her as if it weren’t obvious.

"Yes—I do.  They’re so lovely, aren’t they?  And they make for great patterns, too.  Go ahead and touch," she hands him a plate and he runs his hands gently over the surface of the plate, feeling a gentle rise and fall under his fingers, as though he were really running his hands over a fish’s scales.

"This is incredible," he breathes.

She blushes—a deep red that clashes horribly with her hair.  She doesn’t say anything though, she just shrugs, and shifts from one foot to the other.

"They’re two-hundred for a set of eight," she says.  "Which is a pretty sweet deal, if you think about it."

Ned stares at her.  ”Sweet deal?  You’re selling yourself short.  How do you make any money?” It’s a rude question and he kicks himself mentally for it.

"I don’t really," she says, suddenly frowning, her blush fading as quickly as it had risen.  "You think I could sell them for more?"

Ned nods fervently, trying to undo his misstep.  ”Easily.  You could sell them for four-hundred a set, if not more than that.”

As if to prove his point, he hands the plate back to her, opens his wallet, and counts out four-hundred dollars in twenty, handing them over.  ”I’ll take these for myself.  And I’ll be back at some other point for Lyanna’s present.”

The blushing smile is back on her face.  ”I—I don’t know what to say.”  She hasn’t taken the money yet, so Ned presses it into her palm with a smile.

"Then don’t say anything," he shrugs.  

She wraps the plates in silence and hands him the bag, and he goes off, feeling completely pleased in his impulse-buy.  It’s only when he’s three blocks away that he realizes he forgot to ask her name.  His heart stops briefly before he starts laughing.  It will be fine.  He’ll be back soon for Lyanna’s gift.  He can ask her then.

* * *

* * *

* * *

"Oh god, she made another one, didn’t she?"

"She did," Ned smiled down, running his hands along the plate with Bran’s fingerprints for scales.

"They’re not very pretty," grumbled Robert.  "Isn’t art supposed to be pretty.  And don’t pull any of that ‘but it’s beautiful to me,’ bullshit."

Ned didn’t even bother rolling his eyes.  He just picked up the plate and set it on the shelf next to the one Cat had made with Arya’s fingerprints.


	15. Slapshot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [hurricanedancer](http://hurricanedancer.tumblr.com).

Almost immediately after the sting of cheap tequila filled his mouth, Robert’s palm connected with his skin.  Technically, he supposed, Ned’s head snapped, but it didn’t really feel that way.  As his head rotated on his neck, he noticed everything very clearly—the fact that the faucet was dripping; stains of what looked like tomato sauce on the cabinet; that there were four beer cans that had fallen off the top of the overflowing recycling been and were lying on the floors; and blue eyes, deep and surprised and beautiful and unlike any other eyes he’d ever seen.

The world sped up again, and Ned staggered and heard a “What the fuck?” coming from a girl.  

"What?" he heard Robert say as Ned rubbed his cheek, staring at the girl whose arms were now crossed over her chest, an angrily confused expression on her face.  "It’s a slapshot.  He takes a shot and I slap him.  He just did one to me.  Look."  Robert was undoubtedly pointing at his cheek, which was probably still red from Ned’s slap, but Ned didn’t care.

He was staring at her—and he wasn’t sure if it was the sting pn his face or the liquor in his stomach, or maybe he had just stumbled into that moment that you hear about on Lifetime Original Movies, but she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.


	16. Caught in the rain

”Damn,” she hears him mutter as the umbrella is jerked from his hand.  It’s not the rain, so much as the wind, that’s got them drenched, and frankly, she thinks that the umbrella was useless to begin with.  But Ned’s running after it anyway, splashing through the gutter as the wind blows it this way and that, rainwater splattering the hem of his pants, and Cat laughs at the very sight of him.

"Ned," she calls as she sees him glance at the road, "Don’t run into traffic.  It’s not worth it."  

"But—" he begins, turning to her and as he does, a car drives past, running the umbrella over with a metallic crunch.  Ned makes a face.  "It’s dead, isn’t it?"

"Very," Cat replies.  She holds out her hand to him.  "Come on.  We’re almost home."  He checks the street, darts out and grabs the ruined umbrella, letting it dangle limply in his hands as he does.  

"Can I put my phone in your purse?" he asks, and she opens the leather bag and he drops it in so that it’s sitting on top of her keys and her lip balm.

Cat loves the rain.  It reminds her of lazy days when she was younger, spent curled up with her kitten and her tea and a good book.  She somehow always feels peaceful in the rain, even if she knows that her dress is going to be a soggy mess, that her hair will need to be detangled later, that her shoes are probably be ruined.  She can’t be too upset about any of that because her skin feels cool and clean, and Ned’s hand in hers is warm.

They remove their clothes just inside the door of their apartment, and Cat goes to hang them all in the bathroom, where they can drip dry into the bathtub and Ned follows her, his hands on her hips, his mouth on her neck and she smiled to herself, loving the rain and the broken umbrella even more.  She laughs at the thought.

"What’s so funny," he whispers into her neck, and she turns to face him.

"You know—it would have been a lot harder to get you out of your clothes if our umbrella hadn’t been run over," she teases.

"As if it’s ever hard to get me out of my clothes," he whispers, kissing her, and her reply of "Oh, you’d be surprised," drowns in her throat.  "Besides," he continues, lips ghosting over hers, "How do you know this wasn’t all part of my clever plan?"

"You’re not the one with clever plans.  That’s me," she replies, and kisses him again.


	17. Ned Departs for the Greyjoy Rebellion

He rode out before dawn with two thousand men, making his way to the Stony Shore where he would meet his banners. And Catelyn—she had not been so nervous when he had ridden south with his traitor’s son growing in her belly as she was now, watching as his grey-clad warriors disappeared into the morning mists of the moors.

She had not told him how she ached. She had not told him when he had lain in her arms the night before, nor at breakfast when she could not eat a thing because she knew if the pie touched her lips she would retch there, in front of them all. Though perhaps if she had done it…would he have delayed his departure? He might have, if he thought her truly ill. But she knew that Maester Luwin would tell him what she already knew and then what? He would kiss her and smile and be as happy as when she had told him about Sansa and then he would ride away and leave her miserable than ever she was now, for then what if he should die with the knowledge that he would never… And that she couldn’t allow. She would rather that he was overjoyed upon his return, that boyish smile creeping across his lips when he saw.

Oh, and if she never saw it again! She felt tears in her cheeks as she turned back into the castle, feeling like some mad war widow, though her husband still lived, though he had been warm in her bed only hours before, smiling and telling her that he and Robert would make quick work of Balon Greyjoy as they had with the Mad King. “Do not fret, Cat, I shall be back before you even have the chance to miss me,” he had murmured into her neck, his breath a warm breeze that sent goose prickles across her body.

 _I miss you_ , she thought.  _I miss you. Come back to me. Please._

She took the tower stairs towards her bedchamber at a run, prepared to throw herself onto the bed and weep while her body ached. It ached, as it had not with Sansa, but as it had with Robb, though she had not been near so close to tears with either of them.  _It is a sign from the gods. This one will be a herald of misery. When he is born I shall lose Ned to war, I_ know _it!_. She clutched at her throat as she thought it, as if her own fingers could squash the lump in her throat, and she leaned against the wall to catch her breath. She had taken the stairs so quickly.

"Mother?"

She opened her eyes and saw Robb staring at her, his eyes wide and blue and concerned, his little arm up above his head as he held Old Nan’s hand. The old woman held the hand of Ned’s bastard as well, who was looking at her curiously, and she could not bear the sight of him, not right now, not when he looked like Ned, more than either of her true born children did, and Ned was gone now.  _Let this one look like him. Let it be a boy to look like his father, or a little girl to remind him of Lyanna. Let it look like Ned._

"My love," she managed to say, crouching down and holding out her arms. Nan let go of his hand, and Robb hurried over to her, throwing himself into her and she clutched at him. "You missed your father," she whispered into his curls. "He just rode out."

"When will he be back?" It was not Robb who asked, but Jon, his long face so serious as he watched her hugging her son to her.  _He fears that Ned will not return more than I do_ , she realized, and felt suddenly chilled, even as she held her son warm against her breast.   _  
_

"Soon," she told the boy, surprising herself with how sure of it she sounded, how comforting, as if someone else were saying the words to her as much as him, as if she were Ned, promising health and strength and swiftness. "He and King Robert will bring the Greyjoys to heel and then he will come back to us." Jon nodded slowly, his little shoulders stiff then tilted his hear up to look at Old Nan.

"Breakfast," said Nan, and Robb pulled away from her.

"Will you join us, mother?" He was looking at her so hopefully, and Cat felt that wave that preceded tears roll through her. She would not cry in front of Robb.

"I am afraid not," she said, reaching out and cupping his cheek. "I must rest. I rose early to see your father off and so slept little." It was not wholly a lie. She had risen early, though she and Ned had stayed awake late the night before, abed with one another for the last time for who knew how long.

She swallowed.

"Sleep well, mother," said Robb, and he returned to Old Nan, who took his hand and led the pair of them down the stairs.

When he was gone she felt tears come bubbling up, great blubbering sobs, tears she had never cried in all her youth, not for any of the “wait for me, Little Cat”s and the one “I shall return to you My Lady.” She barred the door to her bedchamber and pressed her face into the pillows that still smelled like Ned, misery and loneliness washing over her.


	18. In Which the Bus Breaks Down

They were somewhere outside of Syracuse when the bus started making a thunking sound, and the driver pulled over to the side of the road.  She watched as the driver opened the door and got out of the bus, Coach Arryn behind him, a tired and anxious expression on his face. 

Ned jerked awake and blinked up at her drowsily.  “Are we there, then?”

“Something’s wrong with the bus,” Cat said quietly to him.  She ran her fingers through his hair, and he closed his eyes again, pressing his head slightly into her fingers.  Ned could never stay awake on busses.  She didn’t know why.  Within ten minutes of being on the road, he was out, not to awaken until the bus stopped moving again.  She had learned that last season, when they had been on their way to States and they had sat next to one another and before too long he had keeled over sideways and started snoring on her shoulder.  That had been before they were dating, though.  Now, he just lay with his head on her lap, his legs protruding out into the aisle because if people wanted to get by, they could climb over it.  They were seniors, who was going to stop them?  And Cat would rest her hands on his chest as she stared out of the window and tried not to think too hard about what would happen when their college decisions came back and what happened if they both didn’t get into Notre Dame the way they wanted. 

“How much further do we have to go?” he mumbled.

“Probably another four hours or so?” Cat said.

“Oh.  That’s a lovely long nap, then,” Ned said.  His eyes were still closed, but now there was a smile quirking on his lips.

“Yes it is,” she said.  She might even fall asleep herself.  She didn’t usually sleep on busses.  In the same way they put Ned to sleep, they kept her awake.  And she really should try and sleep.  She wanted to place.  It was her senior year, and she wasn’t planning on running cross country in college, and she hadn’t placed since she was a Freshman.

“And do we think they’ll fix the bus?  Or is it doomed?”

“They’ll fix it,” Cat said.  “They have to.  It’s  _States_.”

“Ok,” Ned said.  He opened his mouth to keep talking, but Coach Arryn had reappeared and was calling them all to attention.  Ned sat up.

“So, the bus is broken,” he said, and there were groans.  “He’s working on it.  He’s called the main office and they’re sending someone out. So…sit tight and we’ll see how this goes.  I’m going to call the officials and let them know what’s going on and see if they can push the start time at all.”

Two freshmen asked questions, but Cat couldn’t hear them, and she was focused more on Ned, whose hand had come to rest on her upper thigh.  He toyed with her running shorts, then leaned over and whispered in her ear.

“How  _are_ we going to pass the time, then?” He had a playful grin on his face and Cat raised her eyebrows.  “Bathroom?” he suggested.

“You know…while I respect your idea, and believe me, I’m tempted…I just don’t see that working.”

His lips scrunched and he wiggled his head from side to side.  “Yeah…yeah I know.  Still…”

“I wish, believe me,” she said, resting her hand on his thigh too.  “I think we might have to sit this one out.”

He groaned and flopped over, resting his head on her shoulder.  “I can’t sleep if we’re not moving, though.”

“Poor darling,” she teased, reaching up and pulling his lips to hers.


	19. Zombie Apocalypse AU

Cat heard a crackling of branches behind her and whirled around, raising the baseball bat, ready to strike.  Behind her, she heard Edmure scramble to his feet, but he wouldn’t be much use with his leg all battered right now.  Thank the heavens they’d gotten that fire started quick enough and had been able to sear the venom out of his flesh.

Ned pushed through the underbrush, his machete covered in blood and his face more pale than usual.  

"They got Lyanna," he said, sinking to the ground.  "They—-they got her."

Cat gasped and clutched her face.  ”Ned,” she breathed and hurried to him, wrapping her arms around him, and he pressed his forehead into her collarbone.

She waited just a moment, listening to the stillness of the trees around them.  There was no other crackling of branches, no rustling of leaves.

"Brandon?" she asked.

She heard Ned swallow, and knew it what was coming before he even said it.  ”He’s dead, Cat.  They killed him.”


	20. Cruel Dreams

She was standing by his side, her hand clasped in his as she stared at the waves that broke against Pyke.  Her hair glowed in the setting sun, glowed red and purple like the sky, but her eyes were just as bright as they always had been, as they always were, except when they had been dull with tears when she’d bade him farewell when he’d ridden west and south for war.

"This is a dream," he whispered.  

The sea crashed around them, and for a moment, he wondered if she’d heard him.

"It is," she replied, turning to face him.  Her skin was pale like the rising moon, her hair as red as the setting sun and her eyes like the sky somewhere in between.  Her voice was easy, smooth, gentle, calm—everything he wanted and more than he had at the moment and she pulled him down to kiss her.  "It is a dream, but it is a good one," she murmured into his lips.

How cruel his dreams were—giving him visions of her, visions of them when they were so far apart from one another.  There was cruelty in the kindness of his sleeping mind drawing forth her face—as if he could forget it—reminding him that on days when the waves crashed around him and Robert’s bellowing thundered in his ears, he did put her from his mind.  And yet how kind—how kind that she was there with him now, their feet in the water, their skin bare where they had not been moments before, and her lips warm against his, her heart—it had to be her heart—pounding against his.  

"A good dream," she murmured,   "A good dream."  Her hands were at his cock now, warm and soft and gentle.  His hands were rough and on nights where he cupped his own cock, they were familiar, and gods knew they were welcome, but they weren’t half so pleasant as Cat’s fingers wrapped around him, gently tugging him up and down, her fingers toying with the bit of skin at his tip.  "I miss you, my love.  Come home to me."

Her hands were gone now, and he whimpered, but her lips were at his throat and her hands pressing gently into his shoulders as she walked him back out of the water.

His dreams, ever kind, ever cruel, saw fit to provide them with blankets and she pushed him down onto the ground, straddling him, and taking him inside her as she gyrated against him and her hair melted into the light of the setting sun.

"Come home to me, my love," she moaned as he thrust into her.  "Come home to me."

His hands were at her breasts now, and they were heavy as if full of milk, the way they had been when she’d just given birth to Sansa.  He liked the weight of them, the seeping wetness trailing from them, and he swore to himself that he would put another child in her when he came home, that he would taste her milk again as he kissed her breasts.  He drew her down above him, lifting his head, suckling at her as their babes had and she cried out—“Ned,”

"Cat," he moaned and he heard the crashing of the waves, felt the heat of her, of him, of them as he spilled his seed into her, into her, into—

He awoke with a start, warm and wet, his seed covering him.

How kind his dreams were, to come to him while he was so far from home.  How cruel they were, to leave him so alone.

 

 


	21. While Pregnant

He was blushing—pink not so much in his cheeks as covering his entire face and going down into his neck before getting lost beneath the white of his shirt.  And Cat could only laugh, and watch as the pink grew deeper, redder and Ned looked away from her, biting his lip.

"Forget that I said it," he muttered.  He was turning away from her now, tugging his shirt off and there it was—that blush mixing in with the dark hair on his chest.  

"Ned, do you honestly think I hadn’t noticed by now?" she teased gently, pulling towards him.

He had been gone for Robb, and for Arya—that much was true.  But Sansa…how could she not have noticed when she was full with Sansa?  He had spent more nights in her bed than he had when he was trying to get her with child.  She had not minded.  Quite the opposite, his company soothed the aches of her swelling body, and his lips on her flesh raised heat in her skin almost more than they had before she’d been pregnant.  

That, at least, she had not been surprised by.  A child in her womb warmed her.  It was something she’d even noticed with Robb, lying in Riverrun and waiting, feeling just how heavy her silks and velvets felt on her skin, her breasts tender, her stomach aching and nothing but her own touch to provide her with any relief.  She had felt so very wicked, lying in the bed she had only once shared with her husband, letting her fingers skate over the swollen and slick flesh between her legs.  With Arya…with Arya she had felt no wickedness at all, only sadness that Ned was not there to share in her energies.  _  
_

"I—" he said, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in and out.  "It’s—it’s not as I say, Cat.  It’s not simply that I want you when you are with child—though," he glanced down at her belly.  The bump was beginning to show now, and she prayed for a second boy—a boy who would secure her girls’ place in Winterfell should something befall Robb.  Ned groaned and looked away, "Though gods know that I do."

"The gods and me alike," she said gently, resting one hand on her belly and reaching out to her husband’s chest.  

"Yes," Ned said, "But it’s not just that it’s…" he licked his lips… "I could not say it—it is merely different."

"You love me, Ned," she said sitting up and leaning forward.  "You love me, and you want me.  Of that, I have no doubt."  She had had no doubt on that in years now—certainly not since before Arya was born, if not since before Sansa, even.  "But it—your love, your want—" she smirked, glancing down at his cock, already half-stiff, "grows when I carry your child."

"Yes."  He gulped, and with trembling fingers, reached out and lifted her shift, drawing it up over her head.  "Gods, yes, Cat," he breathed.  

"Well," Cat said, her smile growing even more pronounced as she lay back down.  "Show me, then."

He did not pause, and the blush was fading.  His eyes were more black than grey as he leaned across the bed, drawing the tips of her sensitive breasts into his mouth, his fingers dancing lightly over the soft flesh just beneath them.  

Catelyn gasped, letting the warmth fill her, letting the feeling of his tongue swirling over her nipple send tremors through her as she spread her legs.

He kissed along the marks that lined her belly—those pale tendrils that were the remnants of her stomach’s swelling to accomodate Robb, and Sansa, and Arya—taking even more time to suck along the darker ones, the fresher ones, the ones that this baby was stretching into her.  Then he groaned, and dropped his lips to her slit, twisting his body around so that he could truly rest himself between her legs as his tongue probed into her flesh.

And oh—how much better it was—Ned’s tongue, Ned’s breath against her—how much better than her lonely fingers.  For Ned—Ned had put this fire in her to begin with, and Ned—gods be good, Ned was the only one who could—who could…

She cried out, her back arching, her fingers curling into his hair as her body trembled and shook and Ned kept licking and she let him, though, gods, it was nearly too much.  And when she could no longer bear it, she pulled him up by the hair, feeling as he shifted his weight and drew himself up so that he was holding himself above her, not letting himself press down against that precious bump between them.  

He entered her then, entered her as deeply as he could, and thrust with all the fervor of a man lost in his own desire.  And she clung to him, gasping, lifting her head so she could kiss his neck as he drew in and drew out, as his face twisted and as he yelped in release, spilling warmth into her again.


	22. To the Bedpost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [wolvesandatrout](http://wolvesandatrout.tumblr.com/).

Usually her husband was…well…docile in bed.  And it wasn’t a bad thing. He was gentle, and loving, and he had learned years ago precisely how to tease her, to please her, to make her cry out his name before even he had pressed into her.  

So Catelyn couldn’t very well say she had expected him to tie her arms and legs to the bedpost after relieving her of her clothes.  No—that she certainly hadn’t expected.  He might have tried one or the other first, but not all four and…he was smiling over her, kneeling between her legs and running his hands lightly over the soft skin of her stomach, the flesh of her thighs, even trailing his fingers down to her toes.  

"Having fun?" she asked him dryly.

"Oh yes."

"What brought this on?"  She was impressed at how relaxed she sounded, given how she was burning with curiosity.  Ned had never once seemed displeased with the way that they made love, never once seemed unsatisfied.  She was also certain—fairly certain, at least—that he didn’t have any…videos or magazines that would make her frown.  Though maybe he did.  Edmure seemed convinced that all men did.  (She pushed the thought of Edmure from her mind.  He should not be present in her mind while her husband had her tied to the bed.)

"Oh…I heard some people talking about it," he shrugged.  "I thought I’d give it a try."

"Just on a whim?" she asked.

"Well, sort of.  I gave it a fair amount of thought."  His hands were sliding back up the inseam of her legs, and he stroked her labia.  She let out a hiss.

"Hm?"

"Your hands are cold," she said.

"Oh."  He drew them away from her flesh—not quite the effect she’d wanted, and sucked her juices from his fingers.  Then he replaced them.  They were warm now, and Cat sighed.  "Sorry."

"Thank—you."  Her breath hitched as he stroked.  They were the same strokes as usual, light and gentle and teasing, and ordinarily, she would pull him down so that he was kissing her, ordinarily she would reach for his cock and stroke it in time with his caresses, but she could not.  She just lay there, watching him kneeling between her legs, his cock stiff and a rich pink and a smile on his lips as he watched his fingers working.

"I never get to watch you," he said as she shifted her hips.  His touch was just so damn  _light_  and she just wanted more.  But even as she pressed her hips, he seemed to adjust his fingers away from her so that there was no difference in pressure. _  
_

"I did not know you liked watching me," she said.  Her voice was breathless, and it almost sounded as though she was whining.  Normally, she could at least distract herself with touching him, turning it into a game, because if she got him hot enough, he would grow impatient and his touches would grow sturdier and—oh this was hell.  A sweet hell, but hell nonetheless.

"I love watching you," he breathed, and he slid two fingers inside her and she let out a moan, her eyelids fluttering.  But his fingers were gone so quickly she wondered if she had imagined them.  "I truly love it."

"You are evil," she whispered as his thumb lightly circled her clit.

"I assure you—I am very tempted to fuck you senseless right now," he said benignly.  

She rocked her hips against his thumb and a flash of pleasure rose to her stomach.  ”And why aren’t you?” she asked.

He didn’t reply, but he removed his hand from her completely, and she let out a whimper.  ”Ned.”

He was sliding up her body and the heat of his stomach, the sensation of his chest hair against the tips of her stiff nipples…  

"Please, Ned."

He kissed her, and she felt his hand fumbling between her legs, guiding his cock inside her and she sighed.

He was not slow—and if his touches had been light before, they weren’t now.  Now, he was pumping into her with such energy that if she could have she would have clung to him—but she could not.  She could not move at all, and couldn’t even prop herself up to kiss him properly because of the angle of her arms.  So she just lay there, gasping, clenching around his cock because it was the only way she could hold him while he fucked her.  And when she came—well, she nearly forgot where she was, who she was, why she was, and as she lay there, letting her body readjust and watching Ned’s face scrunch as he ejaculated, she couldn’t help but smile because he had been right about fucking her senseless.


	23. Broccoli

”Are you not going to eat your broccoli?” he asked Cat.  He tried—he did try—not to use the voice he used with Rickon when Rickon didn’t finish his broccoli.  Especially not tonight—not when they were finally alone—Robb, Jon, Sansa, and Arya safely at sleep-away camp, and Bran and Rickon spending the night at Benjen’s place before going on a beach expedition tomorrow morning.  

Cat rolled her eyes at him.  ”I wasn’t planning to—no.  Why—are you going to give me a spanking if I don’t?”  There was a teasing tone to her voice, but Ned couldn’t fathom giving Cat a spanking—even in play.  He shook his head.  ”No—I’ve always been more of a one for positive, rather than negative, reinforcement.”

"Oh?" Cat raised her eyebrows at him.  "And what would you call positive reinforcement?  Because you shouldn’t negotiate with promises—that can get tricky."  They had learned that with Arya, who had wriggled her way out of or into whatever she wanted unless they were very firm.

"Well—you eat, and I’ll make it worth your while." 

"That’s a promise, Ned," Cat pointed out chuckling.  

Ned slid out of his chair, wincing slightly at his knees and feeling that flash of  _you’re not as young as you used to be_ before he settled on the ground at Catelyn’s feet.  

"Ahh—I see how it is," she said.

"How many more pieces of broccoli do you have?" he asked, running his hands up her thighs, letting the fabric of her skirt fold up.

"Five," she said.  "Four," she corrected, her mouth obviously full.

"Don’t speak with your mouth full," he teased.  He continued running his hands up her thighs.  Her skin was soft, and she hadn’t shaved above the knee, but he didn’t care—he’d stopped caring about that years before.  If anything, he liked it, because making the hair follicles on her legs move in different directions as he caressed her skin always made Cat sigh.

And she did sigh up above him, and she shifted her hips, letting her legs fall more open.  

"How many now?"

"Three," she said, her mouth full again.  He tugged her underpants aside and ran his fingers along the warm flesh of her pussy.  She was damp—not wet yet, but he would fix that.  He smirked when he heard her breath hitch as he traced along the lines of her labia with one finger.

"Two," she prompted from above, and Ned extended his middle finger as well, drawing circles and lines over her, watching as the skin began to glisten and grow redder as Cat slid her hips forward so that she was resting very lightly on the edge of her seat.

"One," she said, and he slid a finger inside her and she moaned.  "God, Ned."

"Finish your broccoli," he said, almost laughing.

"Ok," she responded, and it sounded as though she had stuffed it into her mouth.  He slid a second finger inside her, and lowered his tongue to her clit, drawing his fingers in and out and circling her, tasting her, drinking her in.  She lifted her legs to rest them on his shoulders, and he heard her swallow loudly above him, and then she began moaning, her hips rocking lightly against his face.  

"Isn’t this better than a spanking?" he murmured into her skin.

"Yes," she hissed.  "Much better."

"Positive reinforcement," he said, and he tongued her.  Her pussy convulsed around his fingers, her clit throbbed against his mouth and somewhere above him, he heard her gasping, heard the sound of things falling as she gripped the tablecloth and called out his name.


	24. Florist and Tattoo Artist AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Starkfish](http://starkfish.tumblr.com).

She was so convinced he’d laugh her out of his shop when she asked him first.  Because honestly, if she can’t draw a good rose by now, she’d have no money and would probably be living in a box somewhere.  Everyone wants roses—whether they’re red with a lover’s name or initials looping through the petals, or whether they’re growing out of a skull.  Roses are just…you can’t own a tattoo parlor without roses.  You can’t  _be_  a tattoo artist without roses.

But Ned—that’s what his name tag said in arial font— _Hi, my name is Ned, how can I help you?—_ had just smiled and nodded and dropped off a two dozen roses for her after work, red ones, blue ones, white ones, yellow ones, ones whose petals changed colors, ones in full bloom, ones that were wilting, ones that hadn’t opened up just yet.  She had stuck them in a vase and had made him a cup of tea and talked a bit about what it was like sticking people with inky needles as she began sketching one of the roses.  And he watched her, his grey eyes as wide as a child’s, mumbling things about how he could never draw like that, and that was amazing, and was this her first time trying?

She’d felt a little bad after that.  That he’d actually thought she had never drawn a rose before.  But he showed up the next day with three lilies, which she hadn’t drawn in years, and he told her about his kid brother, and they compared notes on little sisters and she was quite pleased with her shading, actually, and maybe she’d add lilies to her sketchbook.  She was sure there was some trucker out there who’d see a lily and think that it would make a better homage to his wife.

And on and on it went.  Every day, Ned would bring her a new set of flowers—lilacs, lilies of the valley, carnations, geraniums, and many whose names she couldn’t remember because they sounded made up, even though Ned swore that they weren’t.

Part of her wondered sadly how long it would last.  He was so nice, and she was actually getting really good at some of these flowers.  Surely, though, at one point, he’d grow tired of it, wouldn’t he?  Surely, at one point he’d just shrug and say—that’s enough of that.  You’re a good artist, and all, but I have a life and don’t feel like sitting and watching you draw.  Or, he’d look through her sketchbook and see that she’d had roses in there ages before and he’d get all upset that she’d lied to get him to give her flowers in the first place.

It was a rainy afternoon when he kissed her.  A rainy afternoon, when he brought her roses again—long-stemmed reds that were so perfect they took her breath away—and kissed her and told her he’d wanted to do that for a long time.  And when his lips met hers, and she slipped her tongue into his mouth, everything made sense, because  _of course_  he knew she could draw flowers.  Of  _course_  he saw people with tattoos coming in and out of her shop and knew what she inked into them.  He’d been looking for a ruse as much as she had been—an excuse to bring her flowers and she laughed into his lips, and he laughed into hers and the rain spattered the windowpanes and she felt perfectly and wonderfully happy.


	25. Interpreting Shakespeare

It had begun innocently enough.  ”Are you sure you want to deliver it  _that_  way?”

"Yes, of course," Ned had replied, looking at her blankly.

"I just thought," Cat said quickly, "It might be more meaningful if you elided the lines a little more.  Make it sound less like verse, and more like prose."

Ned shook his head, and there was this little smile on his face that screamed,  _that’s cute that you’d correct me_.  

It had begun with some debates backstage, with some debates that shifted to arguments about agency and climactic build and how much you let the iambic pentameter dominate your delivery.

It ended in the back seat of Catelyn’s car, with his lips on her neck and her fingers threading through his hair, because even if he was  _wrong_  about Shakespeare, at least he was passionate about it.


	26. Anon Prompt

She shouldn’t like kissing Brandon’s brother. She shouldn’t–not at all. There was something wrong with that. It wasn’t as though she and Brandon had been in the perfect relationship, but all the same, kissing his brother, felt like having sex on his grave or something. She shouldn’t like it. It was…it was not the sort of person she wanted to be. She couldn’t be disrespectful to Brandon’s memory–she couldn’t do that. 

But she did. And she couldn’t stop herself. Because when Ned ran his fingers through her hair, when he nibbled at her neck, when he pressed his chest against hers, all the air seemed to go out of her. When his tongue found hers, warmth spread through her from her lips straight down to her toes. Even the smell of him was…she couldn’t explain it. It smelled like home. Brandon had never smelled like home, but Ned did, somehow, and when he pressed his lips to hers she forgot her grief, forgot that she shouldn’t like kissing him, forgot that Brandon was, undoubtedly, rolling over in his grave. She forgot, and she kissed him back.


	27. he's lost sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For fezthepalindrome.

he’s lost sometimes. she can see that. he’s just a lost little boy who misses his father, and brother, and sister. she knows what that’s like. she misses her mother, the fading face and smile of minisa whent that she hasn’t seen since edmure’s birth. 

she wonders what it must be like, holding lyanna’s son in his arms, taking him to the playground and pushing him on the swingset while he holds on tightly to the ropes with his little pudgy hands. it’s different than with robb. she can see that. his shoulders are less tense with robb, and his smile comes more easily, but with jon…

she doesn’t know how to play with jon. she’s afraid she’ll break him, in truth. he means so much to ned–all of ned’s family rolled up into one tiny boy. so she holds robb closer and, when ned comes into their bedroom at night, holds ned tightly too and hopes that one day, he’ll be a little less sad, a little less guilty.


	28. it's not supposed to be snowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the-answer-is-dawn.

it’s not supposed to be snowing.  it’s  _may_  for fuck’s sake.  it’s may, and it’s snowing, and her skin is dry and cracking because she’d finished using her lotion yesterday and the high altitude is ruthless against her skin.

“what’ll it be?” the barkeep asks, and she looks forlornly at him.  his face softens.  “flight delayed?”

“indefinitely,” catelyn wants to cry.  she wonders how often this bartender gets stranded passengers coming to drink away their travel woes at his feet. “scotch.”

he raises his eyebrows.  “rocks or–”

“just give me alcohol.”

he smiles at her gently then pours her her drink.  when she reaches for her purse, he waves his hand away.  “on the house,” he says.

catelyn could cry she’s so grateful.  she takes her drink and sips it down, knowing that it will be a long night, and sensing that she could do much worse for company.


	29. isn’t it supposed to be warm?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For cosmicroco.

catelyn’s shivering. she knew she should have grabbed a sweater, but she’d panicked. she hadn’t known how cold it was outside and there was a fire alarm going off. 

she wraps her arms around her chest and hops up and down to try and make herself warm. it’s springtime. isn’t it supposed to be warm?

“cat?” 

she turns. ned from 6c’s standing there. he’s got a bag from the duane reade down the block dangling from his wrist and a confused expression on his face. 

“fire alarm,” she explains, looking forlornly at their building. others are also milling about, and she sees roose bolton standing there looking blazed as fuck. i bet he hotboxed his place and forgot to leave the window open, she thinks angrily. she’s beginning to wonder what the appropriate stream of curses for him would be but stops when she feels fabric on her shoulders. ned’s shrugged off his coat and has draped it over her.

“oh,” she says. “thanks.” she smiles at him. it’s still warm from him and suddenly she doesn’t feel cold anymore. 

“anytime,” he says, and his lips twitch upward.


	30. Matching Halloween Costumes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For fezthepalindrome.

he’s got a lightning bolt drawn on his forehead and catelyn might technically have come as lily potter but who cares she’ll pretend to be ginny because it makes everyone grin to see them standing there, talking as though they’re all really in harry potter.

he’s a bit shy until she gets a few drinks in him and then, when there’s color in his cheeks, he tells her she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever met and catelyn begins to think this party was a good idea after all.


	31. The north is cold and has no mercy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for lyannas, because of [this](http://lyannas.tumblr.com/post/127650191209/lyannas-the-north-is-hard-and-cold-and-has-no).

Ned knocks on the door to the bedroom that Poole has fitted for Catelyn.  It is ajar, and swings open at his knock.  She is in the midst of unpacking, Ella Poole and Aly Cassel, Jory’s new wife, helping her take her gowns from the trunks that had come north with her from Riverrun while Robb lies on the bed, sucking his toes.  They are bright silks, light and lovely and soft.

Ned frowns.  Surely his new wife can’t…can’t expect to wear such gowns in Winterfell.  She’ll freeze.  She had already complained of the summer snows–these dresses would not keep her warm at all.

“Oh,” Catelyn says, smiling at him, “Hello.  I was going to ask you–are there towels that I can keep in my room, in case Robb needs cleaning?”

“The north is cold and has no mercy,” he blurts out.

She blinks at him, and Ella rolls her eyes at him.  He feels heat rising in his cheeks.  

“I mean…“ Ned stammers, looking back at Robb who is watching him with Catelyn’s blue eyes, “Yes.  Yes, I’m sure there are.  I’m not sure…Ella?  Or–or Aly?”

Ella rolls her eyes again, and Aly’s trying not to laugh as she says, “I’ll fetch some for you, my lady.  You needn’t worry.”

He can’t bring himself to look at Catelyn, but he must, he knows.  He did bring this upon himself.  “I…I meant your gowns.  We should have new ones made.  Wool, or velvet, or…I’ll speak with Nan.  She’ll know where to…” He’s babbling and walking backwards and when he’s gone from the room, he hears Aly break down in laughter.


	32. Person B ends up in a strange partnership with Person A during a crisis.

he must not think of brandon.  he must not.  if he does… 

he hasn’t slept well.  he has not slept well in years it feels, though it’s been only a few weeks since the news had reached him–father dead, and brandon.  and lya gone–gods be good.

jon says he must marry catelyn tully.  that they must have lord hoster’s swords if they are to stand a chance.  the strength of the north and the vale and the stormlands are all well and good, but the riverlands lie between and the mad king’s forces could wreak havoc unless they hold the rivers.  so he must stand in brandon’s stead again.   _lord of winterfell._

he had not wanted it.  had not dreamed of it.  he didn’t know what he’d dreamed of, in truth, not since brandon had had lady ashara though he’d promised…brandon always promised…

_i’ll be back soon.  and with lya.  rhaegar targaryen will die for this, i promise, ned.  i promise, ned._

he’d sounded so bold when he’d gone.  and now he was dead, and his wildness had brought father down as well.

 _i’ll not be wild–not like brandon._  could one win a war if one was not wild?  he’d heard that battle set a man’s blood ablaze.  war and love, that’s what he’d been told.  he was a man grown now, he should know what it was to have his blood set ablaze, he supposed.

he looked at lady catelyn, whose face was a mask, resolute.   _family, duty, honor,_ he supposed.  she turned and he saw her eyes lock on his.  she was very pretty.  very pretty, and supposed to be for brandon.

 _i must not think of brandon.  or of father._ so he thought of lya.  and family, duty, and honor.


	33. she only has a few words of northern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the-answer-is-dawn

she only has a few words of northern.  only a few, and ones she’d learned from brandon, who studied the river tongue since the moment he knew he was to wed catelyn tully.  catelyn is intelligent, he can see that in her eyes, but she hasn’t got a way with languages and often misspeaks.  she conjugates her verbs wrong, and mixes up the dative and the vocative and the genitive, and falls into traps set long ago when the andals  _sort of_ taught themselves the tongue of the first men, but then decided that their own tongue was better and tried to force it in place instead.

ned does his best with the river tongue.  he curses knowing the vale words as well as he does, and some of robert’s stormtongue because they mix and muddle with the river words.  he’ll get it in the end, of course.  ned is quick with languages, having been exposed so young.  but he sees catelyn’s frustration with northern, and knows that his speaking to her in river tongue won’t solve her troubles, especially when she raises his children and they speak a different language from her.

so he teaches her.  every night, after dinner, they sit together by the fire and he goes over vocabulary with her.  he tells her of his youth, and she forces her way through stories of her own.  she learns the rhythm of the language, and he watches the way her lips move in the late dusk of summer and they are so red, her lips.  not the riverlands red of her hair.  a different red entirely.


	34. Her body is swollen.

Her body is swollen.  Feet, ankles, breasts, stomach–all swollen.  Full of life is what the maester tells her.  Ready to burst is what she feels.  

Or maybe that’s Ned.  It could well be.  She lies on her back, with Ned between her legs, his tongue tracing her skin, his fingers rough against her thighs as he holds them apart and Cat–Cat is full to bursting.  Her heart beats, and she feels it in her swollen breasts, her swollen ankles, her swollen stomach, her swollen sex, all of it thud, thud, thudding in time with Ned’s tongue, her heart warming her with every passing moment.

The babe kicks within her, agitated.  He knows, she’s sure.  Old Nan says that babes can feel fear, can feel contentedness, can feel everything from within their mother’s womb.  She wonders if Robb had known how frightened she was.  She wonders if this babe knows how she aches and how she loves, and how the only thing she needs more than Ned’s tongue against her skin is his fingers inside her, curling and rubbing as he licks.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the-answer-is-dawn

She doesn’t understand Brandon’s brother.  Brandon had spoken of Lyanna and Benjen far more than he’d spoken of Ned, the brother who’d been sent _south_ to foster.  “Why, I imagine you’d be more familiar with him than I, as I doubt there’s much of the north left in him,” Brandon had once said.  

But she doesn’t understand Ned anymore than Brandon had seemed to, and it frustrates her.  Catelyn has always been quick to understand people–so why should Ned Stark be any different?


	36. from tumblr smut meme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for starkfish/someenchantedeve

there’s a new batch of stretch marks on her stomach, and ned kisses his way up and down them reverently.

“you’re the only man i know who _likes_  stretch marks,” catelyn says, bemused.  she’s stripped below the waist, and her shirt is pushed up over her stomach.  the bra will stay on–she’s still breast feeding, and she hates leaking during sex.  ned grins up at her.

“what’s not to love?” he asks.

“signs that i’m fat?” she says dryly.

“signs that you had my child,” he retorts.  he kisses a stretch mark once again.  “signs that i love you, and you love me, and that we made life.”

catelyn sits up and leans forward, drawing his lips to hers.  “you get so soppy when you’re horny,” she points out, and ned grins.  

“i really do,” he concedes.  “you know me so well.”

she leans back against the pillows and spreads her legs and purrs, “well, get on with it.”

ned kisses his way down her stomach again and finds her slit with his tongue.  he licks along it gently, looking up at her.  her eyes are closed, and her for the first time since bran was born, she looks like she’s relaxing.  ned grins to himself as he slides his tongue over her inner labia. 

it’s a dumb trick–one he remembers learning when he was a kid at sleep-away camp, robert _insisting_  that it was the best way to get a girl off and that if you got a girl off she’d give you a wicked blow job.  robert had seemed like a fount of knowledge at the time, but in retrospect, he’d been eleven and hadn’t known what the fuck he was talking about.

or maybe he had.  maybe he had just enough, as ned licks his name into catelyn’s cunt–his full name, middle name included, only hitting her clit every now and then.  he feels her hips shift underneath him as she tries to edge her clit towards his tongue and he grins and nudges it briefly with his nose before he starts with her name–a little higher up this time, still not fully on her clit, but hitting it a little more–

“ned.” catelyn’s voice is sardonic, and when he looks up at her, she’s rolling her eyes, and the look of relaxation has gone.  there’s need etched across her face, and ned lifts his head up and presses one last kiss to her stomach before he finds he clit and sucks it between his lips.


	37. things you said with my lips on your neck

“i’ll come back to you, my lady.  i promise.”

his arms are still around her, and catelyn clings to the front of his tunic, holding him close to her.   _why must he go away now?  now that we are…now that i may…_

“you had better,” she whispers into his neck, and his arms tighten around her.   _i don’t want to be in winterfell without you,_ she thinks.  for all he is building her a sept, it doesn’t feel like home, not truly.  not the way his arms do.

“i’m a man of my word,” ned tells her seriously.   _except about jon._ but no.  no not now.  not while he is leaving, and riding off to war again.  "i will come back to you, my lady.“

“throw balon greyjoy into the sea,” she says.  she can’t quite bring herself to pull away from him.  not yet.  not just yet.

“another thing i promise,” he says, running his fingers through her hair.  "just because you wish it.“

she smiles, and closes her eyes, and wants to remember this moment until the day she dies.


	38. Wed me

“I know I’m not my brother, my lady.  But I hope to bring you joy as much as he would have.”  He sounds so morose, and it’s some small comfort.  Marrying a stranger brokenhearted—at least he loved his brother.  At least he knows she may be brokenhearted.  

“I hope so as well,” Catelyn says.  What else is there to say?  What else could she say to the man she’s to wed.  Her father had promised her to a Stark, and here he stands, honorable and here to carry out his brother’s promise.

She wants him to say more, to promise that she will come to love him as she loved Brandon, to say something of how he misses his brother as well, to say that he knows it is quick, but war and her father necessitates a hasty marriage.  But he shuffles from foot to foot, unsure of what to say.   _He’s just a boy,_ Cat thinks.   _And he was never taught to speak on his father’s behalf as Brandon was.  He doesn’t know how to be the lord._ He’ll learn.  He’ll have to, just as Catelyn had had to learn to be the lady when her mother died.

She sighs and looks out of the window at the river and closes her eyes and does her best not to remember how Brandon had compared the rush of water to the sound of her laugh.


	39. Unbind me

“He’s gotten so very _fat_ ,” Ned says, kicking off his boots and unlacing his jerkin. 

Catelyn bites back a smile. “He’s hardly young anymore,” she points out.  Her father had grown plumper and plumper as he’d aged, before he had started growing frail.

“There’s a difference between not young and indolent,” Ned sighs.  Cat hangs her gown up in their wardrobe and begins removing the jewels from her neck and ears.  “I can hardly imagine Robert _indolent._ All he ever wanted to do was spar when we were young.  I suppose he doesn’t have time for that now that he is king.”

“I imagine not,” Cat says and she glances at him in the glass.  “I imagine a great many things are different in his life now. Just as they are different in yours.”

Ned gives her a wry smile as he comes to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle, the heat of him spreading over her.  She places a hand on his arm for just a moment, and then reaches up to begin pulling the pins from her hair.  

“Let me,” Ned whispers in her ear.  “I love your hair.”  And he kisses her neck and pulls out another pin.


	40. “They always make shower sex sound so appealing, but honestly it seems quite dangerous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for starkfish

Ned looks up from his crossword, completely unsure how to respond.  Catelyn’s  dropping magazines into a brown paper bag–Robb’s sports ones, and Arya’s comic books, and Sansa’s…

“What is she reading?” Ned asks, horrified.  “Surely she’s too young for that.”

“They have good articles lately,” Cat says.  “Honestly I was surprised.  Teen magazines usually have nothing interesting, but Sansa wanted this one because  of an article about–” she waves a hand.  She doesn’t like saying his name.  Ned doesn’t either. “–everything.  And she showed it to me.  It was quite good, but still…”

“So she’s getting articles about the political climate and then articles about shower sex?”

“It would seem.  Media for teenage girls is wild,” Cat says, shaking her head.  “I suppose it’s the times we live in.  Things seemed simpler when I was a girl.”

“We hadn’t just elected–”

“I know, I know.”  

Catelyn finishes stuffing the paper bag.  “But honestly, I don’t see how you don’t just fall over.  Sex isn’t very fun if you’re worrying about losing your balance and getting a concussion in the shower.  And shower sex doesn’t seem worth it if you aren’t going to lose your head a bit.”


	41. “After everything you did, you’re asking ME to apologize for snapping at you ONCE?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for proustianrecall

the words fill the kitchen, ringing like a bell.

cat has tried to keep anger at bay.  she’d thought she was quite good at it.  years and years and years of putting it behind her, of not asking because ned had gotten angry when she’d asked if it was ashara dayne, of making the boy lunch and going to his fucking parent teacher conferences as though he were her son as though he were…

she feels cold.  her heart hurts.  and ned had the gall, he really did.

she can hear the ticking clock, she can hear the pounding drum of her heart, she can hear the words over and over again like a glass that shatters on loop, _cat he’s my nephew, not my son.  he’s lyannas._

how many fucking years of barely being able to look at him?  how many years of telling herself that it didn’t matter because ned loved her now, had given her five children now, what did a past by-blow matter?

“cat,” he says slowly and catelyn feels a growl in her throat, so low, that she can’t even hear it.  she whirls and leaves the room, leaves the _house_  and doesn’t know how long she’ll need to walk until the tears stop raining from her eyes because god only ned would know how to rip her heart out and twist it right in front of her.


	42. “I may be an idiot but I’m your idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for dknc3

catelyn is frying bacon and eggs when she sees robb stiffen, his eyes trained on the window.

“mom?” he asks, sounding nervous.

“hmm?”  catelyn turns to look at the window too.

“i don’t see dad.”

nor can catelyn.  “take over,” she says handing the spatula to him–he’s just old enough now that he can be trusted to cook breakfast.  catelyn finds her coat and puts it on over her pajamas, and puts on robb’s snowboots since he left them by the door and his feet are bigger than hers are now.  

“ned?” she calls.

“over here!” he calls back, and she walks down the recently-cleared walkway towards the driveway.  she finds ned lying on the ground, his eyes closed, the shovel next to him, leaning against a pile of snow.

“what are you–”

“i threw out my back.  i’m icing it.”

“icing it?” catelyn raises her eyebrows, then reaches out a hand.  “come on, let’s get you inside.”

“let me just lie here a moment, will you?” ned asks, and catelyn sighs and crosses her arms over her chest.  it’s still cold outside, but the sun is shining now after having dumped two feet of snow on them last night and causing a snow day all over the county.  

“lift from your legs,” ned sighs.  “my dad taught me that the first time i had to shovel snow.”

“and i take it you didn’t?” cat asks, already running through the various cabinets in the house in her mind to make sure that they have icy hot.  she thinks they do from the last time robb had a basketball injury.

“might have been a bit of an idiot,” ned says and he opens his eyes at last.

“i will never deny that,” cat laughs and she holds out her hand again.  

ned takes it.  “i may be an idiot but i’m your idiot.”  he winces as she helps him up.

“i’ll never deny that either.”


	43. the secretive brush of fingers against an inner thigh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for frankiebretrospective

when cat is pregnant, she becomes insatiable.  she’d learned that so quickly when she’d first been pregnant with robb.  guilt had kept her from touching herself then, but that guilt had disappeared when ned was gone and she was pregnant with arya.  now, she carries a fourth child within her, and her breasts are heavy and sensitive against the velvet of her gown, and she wants little more than to feel ned’s hands on them, for ned’s hands somehow always manage to ease the needy ache she seems to feel constantly.

but no.  no, it is dinner time now, and she must be sure that sansa is eating her string beans, and that arya is not getting food all over her dress because she doesn’t like the napkin that they tie around her neck.  robb and ned’s bastard are at the corner of the table, eating dutifully, and the babe inside her distracts her all too easily from her children.

she rests a hand on her thigh and for a moment, lets herself think it’s ned.  ned is dining with lord karstark, who has ridden down from karhold to discuss the planting.  he and catelyn and lord rickard will dine later once the children are abed and it will be hours yet before catelyn has a moment of quiet relief to herself.

as though the old woman reads her mind, old nan says, “i can put them to bed if you should like to rest, lady catelyn.”

“that won’t be–”

“you’ll need all the rest you can get,” she nods at the bump that is beginning to show at her middle.  “and lord karstark’s a talker.  he’ll keep you awake late into the night.” old nan raises her voice, “say goodnight to your mother, children.”

“goodnight, mother,” robb and sansa say dutifully.  arya, meanwhile, bangs her spoon on the table.

she kisses the babe’s head, then sansa’s, then robb’s, and leaves the solar, climbing the stairs to her bedroom and lies down on the bed.  

she hoists up her skirt and strokes the inside of her thigh very lightly for just a moment, trying to match the way that ned does it when they’re in bed together before sliding her fingers along her aching slit and whimpering because why does it always feel so much better so much more quickly when she’s pregnant.

she hears a knock on her door and pauses.  “cat?” 

she gets up at once and opens the door.  “i thought you were with lord karstark.”

“he’s writing to his wife with instructions for the planting,” ned replies and catelyn grabs his doublet and pulls him in and kisses him.

ned laughs.  “i thought you might have need of me.”

she’s tempted to tell him to be quiet, but instead she kisses him and pulls him towards her bed, pulls him on top of her.  she wiggles, pulling her skirt back up as he unlaces his trousers.  he’s not hard–not yet anyway–and she cups his cock with her hands while he slides fingers into her, stroking her inside.  she feels him grow in her hands, knows that he likes the feel of her, that when she kisses his neck he feels her need and that enflames him, and when he’s half hard she tilts her hips up and together they work him into her, knowing it won’t be long before he’s the rest of the way ready.

he loves her without abandon–knowing well enough by now that what she needs right now is something fast, and hard.  and ned, ever the dutiful husband, ever loving, ever wanting to be all he can be for her, presses into her harder, and harder that she feels herself moved slightly up the bed as she rocks her own hips into his, her hand sliding down between them to rub feverishly at the top of her slit until the blood roars through her body and she is full of him.

**Author's Note:**

> I have written some Ned x Catelyn drabbles that exist in my [November Drabble Series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/860076). Since I'm not going to post them twice, here is a directory if you're interested.
> 
>   * [She knew she loved him](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1029742/chapters/2120541)
>   * [“Am I Ginny Weasley in this story?”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5122979/chapters/12082982)
>   * [Nursery](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8443999/chapters/19498285)
> 



End file.
